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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27990300">Courtly Promises</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/polemisti/pseuds/polemisti'>polemisti</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lucien has a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Year [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Deviates From Canon, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It, Lucien Vanserra-centric, M/M, Mild Blood, Multi, One Shot, POV Azriel (ACoTaR), POV Cassian (ACoTaR), POV Lucien (ACoTaR), Scars, Tamlin The Tool, high lords meeting, lucien isn't an asshole, minor past rhys/lucien, past lucien/tamlin, recovering from abuse, thesan and his lover are bone achingly soft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:07:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,730</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27990300</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/polemisti/pseuds/polemisti</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tamlin grin was somber, “When Feyre left, she took my emissary with her, warping his mind.”<br/>Eris spoke. His face was carefully neutral. “What does my errant little brother have to do with any of this, High Lord?”<br/>“They abandoned him in the human lands—defenseless," Tamlin hissed, "I was lucky to find him and bring him home.”<br/>-<br/>Or, what would happen if Lucien was at the High Lords meeting?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Azriel/Cassian/Lucien Vanserra, Feyre Archeron/Helion/Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Helion &amp; Lucien Vanserra, thesan (acotar)/thesan's lover (acotar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lucien has a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Year [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896466</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Courtly Promises</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is a work in a series! If you want to see Lucien's redemption arc, feel free to read earlier works in this series, but it's NOT necessary to enjoy this installment.<br/>Some context:<br/>Lucien and Rhys had a one night stand under the mountain. It's referenced, but overall irrelevant<br/>Lucien was in an abusive relationship with Tamlin until leaving with Feyre in the events of ACOWAR<br/>Lucien is not mates with Elain in this AU</p><p>Also, a side note: helion isn't interested in cas/az/mor in this AU because it would make things really awkward for me as an author lmao</p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rhys looked terrible. He looked like he had fifty years ago, walking into Amarantha’s trap. The bruises under his eyes were more pronounced. The shadows which clung to Azriel whispered of bad dreams between their usual reverence for the High Lord.</p><p>“You look terrible.”</p><p>The shadowsinger felt a fist thump against his armored shoulder.</p><p>“I’m being genuine,” he reiterated mildly.</p><p>“I know,” Rhys sighed back.</p><p>Azriel sat at the desk, pulling out a stack of parchment from a shoulder bag at his side.</p><p>“My report. I believe we can convince the Vanserra brothers to keep quiet as long as we support Eris’ pursuit of the High Lord position.”</p><p>“Lucien agrees?” Rhys asked, flipping through the report. Azriel and Lucien had met the day before, at the High Lord’s recommendation.</p><p>“Yes. Pytheus is the most likely to tell his father—he thinks he has a chance at beating Eris for the position. But even he’s not an idiot. If Eris tells him directly not to say anything, he’ll agree until he hears a better offer.”</p><p>Rhys chewed on his lip. “Okay. We’ll invite Eris to the Hewn City, then.”</p><p>“I will send out the invitation later today.”</p><p>“Subtly, please.”</p><p>The door of the office opened before Azriel could respond.</p><p>Cassian.</p><p>“The fact that you would assume Az would ever <em> not </em> be subtle about <em> anything </em> shows how fucked up you are right now.” He glanced at the report, which Rhys closed and handed back to Azriel. “What are we talking about?” Cassian asked.</p><p>“I’ll explain later,” Rhys waved the question off. Azriel stayed silent. “I wanted to ask you both something, while you’re here.”</p><p>Cassian sat in one of the seats with a huff, gesturing as if to say ‘ask away.’</p><p>“How is Lucien doing?” Rhys finished.</p><p>Cassian winced.</p><p>Azriel stepped in before Cassian could say something stupid.</p><p>“He was shaken up after our meeting yesterday. He thought I was going to kill him. Well—he thought you were going to kill him.”</p><p>“He thought—” Rhys cut himself off, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t have time for this. Once with Feyre was enough.”</p><p>“What <em> are </em> we doing with him?” Cassian asked slowly. “He joining you and Feyre? Should I expect another High Lord in my future? Now, I’m fine with two of you telling me what to do, but I don’t know if—” Cassian was grinning like a cat when Rhys cut him off.</p><p>“Mother above, Cassian, what are you talking about?”</p><p>Azriel sighed quietly as he considered slipping into the shadows and letting the two go at it.</p><p>“Come on, Rhys… You fucked! Under the mountain…” Cassian finished lamely.</p><p>Azriel felt a mild headache form behind his eyes.</p><p>“I used to fuck the two of you, but you don’t see me making you a fucking High Lord.”</p><p>“That was different. Illyrian boyhood shit isn’t the same as—” Cassian refuted.</p><p>“Cassian,” Rhys said, and Cassian shut up, glaring daggers into Rhys. “What happened between Lucien and I under the mountain is complicated, but more importantly, it's finished. Lucien has been bouncing around from court to court since he was less than a century old. He’s spent the last year clawing himself out of such a thorough brainwashing by Tamlin that I doubt he even knows where he is half the time. I invited him to my court, he is here, and now he is a member of this court. Is that clear?”</p><p>“Of course its fucking <em> clear </em> , Rhys, I just want to know where he <em> stands </em>. He’s the fucking Fox of Prythian. How do you know he’s not playing all of us right now? You’re showing him maps, you’re allowing him into the meeting rooms. He could be selling all of this to the highest bidder. He could still be working for Tamlin!”</p><p>“Mother above, Cassian, he’s not working for Tamlin,” Rhys said. Azriel was half gone, ready to hide in his office for the next hour, when Rhys said, “Az, don’t leave.”</p><p>
  <em> Shit. </em>
</p><p>“Cassian brings up a viable point,” Azriel said mildly. “We do not know where his loyalties stand.”</p><p>Rhys sighed. “His loyalties stood with Feyre. He sees—<em> saw </em> himself, maybe, in her.”</p><p><em> “Stood, </em> Rhys.” Cassian refuted, “Where do she and Lucien stand now? Feyre spent the past 2 months systematically dismantling the court he’s called home for two <em> centuries. </em>He’s pissed. Hasn’t talked to her—barely talks at all outside of offering meeting places for this High Lord thing.”</p><p>“He <em> would </em> be a valuable resource,” Azriel mused, “He’s established friendly relationships with every court outside of Autumn, who he’s remained neutral with. The impression I've received is that these friendships will follow <em> him </em>, not Tamlin.” Azriel paused. Rhys watched him, eyes narrowed. “We do not have an official emissary.”</p><p>Rhys sighed.</p><p>Cassian scoffed. “We don’t even know if we can trust him at all, and now you two want to make him <em> emissary </em>?”</p><p>“If he proved himself—” Azriel said.</p><p>“He’s already proved himself,” Rhys said, obviously exhausted.</p><p>“Like hells, he has,” Cassian half yelled. “He was stalking Feyre and you through the mountains six months ago. Now he’s suddenly on our team? He’s Tamlin’s <em> dog, </em> Rhys.”</p><p>Rhys’ eyes flashed. “If he’s Tamlin’s dog, I’m Amarantha’s whore.”</p><p>Cassian froze.</p><p>Very softly, gaze fixed on the desk before them, the Night Court’s General spoke, “It’s not the same—that’s—that’s not what I meant.”</p><p>Rhys, just as lowly, responded, “I don’t want to hear it. I trust Lucien. Frankly, I don’t give a shit if you do or not. But don't assume you know what he’s gone through, just as you wouldn’t assume to know what I’ve experienced. Is that clear?”</p><p>“Yeah, Rhys, I get it,” Cassian said, meeting the high lord’s eyes. Azriel hadn’t wanted to slip into shadows this much in decades.</p><p>“Good.” Rhys turned to Azriel, lifting the closed report in his hand, “Thanks Az. I’ll look over this and write up a plan by tonight.” Azriel nodded curtly, taking the words as dismissal and slipping into shadow and back into his apartment. The growing headache immediately faded.</p><hr/><p>Cassian was tense as all hells as he walked. Rhys and Feyre took the lead, Mor following quickly behind. Az beside him. The power that buzzed in the air at so many High Lords in one place—it was palpable. </p><p>Introductions went as well as they could. Mor reunited with Vivian. Feyre acted well in the presence of other High Lords. Beron and his sons—well, Cassian hadn’t killed them yet, and that was enough self restraint on his part to warrant celebration.</p><p>And then something was <em> wrong, </em> the air shifted and Tamlin was there, grinning like a wolf.</p><p>Shields slammed up in succession, and this was <em> not going to go well at fucking all </em>.</p><p>Thesan spoke first, hand on his blade. Cassian didn’t blame him for the defensive posture. “We were not expecting you, Tamlin. Fetch the High Lord a chair.” Tamlin kept his eye on Feyre, grinning widely. Cassian wanted to rip his teeth out.</p><p>Baron said, “I will admit, Tamlin, that I am surprised to see you here. Rumor claims your allegiance now lies elsewhere.”</p><p>They brought him a chair. Cassian watched the attendants as they moved. He watched Tamlin and Feyre and the hands on blades. He calculated escape routes and cataloged body language.</p><p>Helion spoke next, nonchalant. “Let’s get on with it, then.”</p><p>Silence. Then, finally, Tamlin.</p><p>“It would seem congratulations are in order.”</p><p>Rhys turned to Thesan. Feyre <em> reeked </em> of fear. “We can discuss the matter at hand later.”</p><p>Tamlin again. “Don’t stop on my account.”</p><p>Rhys. “I’m not in the business of discussing our plans with our enemies.”</p><p>“No,” Tamlin agreed sweetly, “You’re just in the business of fucking them.”</p><p>Cassian didn’t let himself feel the rage that pooled in his gut. Not as his High Lord and Lady were in danger. He could kill Tamlin later.</p><p>Rhys shrugged, smiling faintly. “Seems a far less destructive alternative to war.”</p><p>“And yet here you are, having started it in the first place.” <em> Bullshit </em>. A claw slid out of Tamlin’s knuckle. “If you hadn’t stolen my bride away in the night, Rhysand, I would not have been forced to take such drastic measures to get her back.”</p><p>Feyre said quietly, “The sun was shining when I left you.” </p><p>Kallias, then, “Why are you here, Tamlin?”</p><p>“I bartered access to my lands to get back the woman I love from a sadist who plays with minds as if they are toys. I meant to fight Hybern—to find a way around the bargain I made with the king once she was back. Only Rhysand and his cabal had turned her into one of them. And she delighted in ripping open my territory for Hybern to invade. All for a petty grudge—either her own or her… master’s.”</p><p>“You don’t get to rewrite the narrative,” Feyre breathed. “You don’t get to spin this to your advantage.”</p><p>Tamlin angled his head at Rhys, ignoring Cassian’s High Lady. “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?”</p><p>The pool of rage in Cassian’s gut grew deeper. Rhys turned his head, looking Feyre over from head to toe. Then back to Tamlin.</p><p>Azriel, beside Cassian, said, his voice like cold death, “Be careful how you speak about my High Lady.”</p><p>
  <em> Surprise. Rage. One claw out. Everyone is shielded. His abilities cannot get through ours, but the other High Lords? </em>
</p><p>“It was not enough to sit at my side, was it?” A cruel smile curled his lips. “You once asked me if you’d be my High Lady, and when I said no …” A low laugh. “Perhaps I underestimated you. Why serve in my court, when you could rule in his?”</p><p>Tamlin faced the other gathered High Lords and their own guests. “They peddle tales of defending our land and peace. And yet she came to my lands and laid them bare for Hybern. She took my High Priestess and warped her mind—after she shattered her bones for spite. And if you are asking yourself what happened to that human girl who went Under the Mountain to save us… Look to the male sitting beside her. Ask what <em> he </em>stands to gain—what they stand to gain from this war, or lack of it. Would we fight Hybern, only to find ourselves with a Queen and King of Prythian? She’s proved her ambition—and you saw how he was more than happy to serve Amarantha to remain unscathed.”</p><p>Tamlin grinned again, cruel and wide. He turned to the other High Lords.</p><p>“When Feyre left, she took my emissary with her. She warped my High Priestess' mind, and she warped his as well.”</p><p>Eris spoke. His face was carefully neutral. “What does my errant little brother have to do with any of this, High Lord?” The High Lady of Spring’s face was pale but neutral. Beron’s eyebrows were furrowed, but he remained silent.</p><p>“They abandoned him in the human lands—<em> defenseless. </em> I was lucky to find him and bring him <em> home.” </em></p><p>“What did you <em> do?” </em> Feyre hissed, spitting.</p><p>“Where is he?” Rhys asked neutrally.</p><p>“Not sure.” Tamlin grinned. “I left him by the water, but you know how he likes to wander.”</p><p>Every High Lord, every attendant, everyone there except for Tamlin and Rhys, who remained staring at each other, turned their gaze to the water. In the distance, Cassian saw a figure with a flash of red hair.</p><p>Cassian’s interactions with Lucien had been limited. But Rhys has been clear—Lucien was not only a member of the Night Court, he was a member of the inner circle. And thus, when Rhys raised his hand, gaze still fixed on Tamlin, Cassian stood immediately, walking out of the room and to the youngest Vanserra brother.</p><p>Az followed him, and they walked alone to the water, determined.</p><p>He was alone. Dressed not in the leathers Cassian had given him days ago, but in a fine shirt of green and gold. Spring Court colors. Cassian held his snarl. The man didn’t turn as they approached.</p><p>“Lucien,” Cassian said, and still the man stood frozen. “Lucien,” Cassian tried again. No response. Slowly, Cassian put a hand on the man’s shoulder. In an instant, Lucien collapsed, and Cassian rushed to catch him.</p><p>“Lucien. It's Cassian. What’s going on? You’re okay.”</p><p>Azriel kneeled beside them, and they both shielded the scene from onlookers with their wings. He felt Azriel put up an additional shield, keeping their words contained to them alone.</p><p>Lucien was gripping his own throat and shaking. Cassian set him gently on the soft grass below them, kneeling beside him.</p><p>“What happened?” Az asked calmly, though Cas felt a raging fury emulate from the shadowsinger. The same fury Cassian himself felt—someone in their court—their inner circle, no less—had been put in danger, taken—presumably—against their will.</p><p>“He found me,” Lucien said, voice hoarse. “Said he’d kill the humans I was staying with if I didn’t come with him. I came—of my own free will.”</p><p>“Like hells you did,” Cassian hissed, looking up and down the man for injuries. He saw none, though the man continued to grip his own throat.</p><p>“We will kill him for this.” Az said calmly, and Cassian reached out a hand, gripping Az’s thigh.</p><p>“Relax, Az. Let’s get him—<em> fuck </em>—away from here, first.”</p><p>Cassian rose, holding a hand to Lucien, who took it shakily, lifting himself up. Slowly, he seemed to realize where his other hand was, guarding his neck, and he lowered that too. Cassian glanced at his neck beneath, and saw a jagged circular scar. <em> A bite mark </em>. The scar was quickly covered by the man’s hair. Lucien’s expression hardened, looking back towards the palace.</p><p>Az dropped the shield, and they began walking back. Luicen did not accept Az’s arm. He walked ahead of both Cassian and Lucien, head high and proud. The room watched in silence Lucien entered.</p><p>“Lucien,” Thesan said, breaking the silence. “Tamlin says the Night Court abandoned you in the human realm. Is this true?”</p><p>“Tamlin <em> abducted </em>him in the human realms—” Cassian interjected.</p><p>Thesan turned a sharp glare to the General. “I was asking Lucien a question, not you.”</p><p>Lucien’s voice was still hoarse when he spoke, maintaining neutral eye contact with the High Lord of Dawn. “I was in the human realms of my own free will.”</p><p>Thesan nodded. “And Tamlin. Did he bring you here of your own free will?”</p><p>Lucien was silent for a long moment.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>The room was bathed with another wave of silence.</p><p>Helion spoke first, casual and nonchalant, though unchecked rage burned alight in his gaze, which he leveled on Tamlin. “You have miscalculated, Tamlin. Your little show of power has done nothing for you. Were you not a High Lord…” The threat remained unfinished as Helion trailed off.</p><p>Thesan spoke next, “Lucien acted well as your emissary, and stands as a friend to my court with or without you. Helion is right. You have miscalculated.”</p><p>Cassian watched as rage still boiled in Rhys, but his friend leaned back a fraction in his seat, shifting his gaze from Lucien back to Tamlin.</p><p>He addressed the room. “Lucien was on the human lands on business—concerning the coming war. Once again, you have taken a member of my inner circle from me.”</p><p>“Your inner circle?” Tamlin asked incredulously, still grinning softly. No one else in the room smiled.</p><p>“He bears my sigil.” Rhys said.</p><p>The room again looked towards Luicen, who, slowly, pulled out a familiar stone from one of his pockets.</p><p>
  <em> Fuck, Rhys, you gave him one of those? And here’s me thinking I’m special. </em>
</p><p>“High Lords, High Lady,” Lucien addressed the room, looking at none of them, gaze fixed towards nothing. “May I be excused?”</p><p>The room sat in silence. And then, Thesan. “Escort Lucien to a room. Make sure he is well cared for.” An attendant emerged from a corner, shaking slightly. She was a short fae, young, and nodded towards Lucien, before guiding him out of the room. Lucien followed silently, with a shallow nod towards the room before leaving.</p><p>When Lucien was gone, Rhys’ gaze was still fixed on Tamlin. His face was too neutral, too devoid of emotion for anything to exist behind his eyes except for rage.</p><p>Kallias clicked his teeth. “Where were we?”</p><hr/><p>It was hours before they were led to their suite. Azriel stood beside Cassian, tense and exhausted from rage. A servant waited outside of the room, bowing lowly at the assembly. She turned to Rhys and Feyre, and bowed again, lower.</p><p>“There are a limited number of secure suites in the palace. Lucien expressed a preference for staying in the suite designated for you and your assembly. If you would like him removed, we can do so with haste.”</p><p>“No,” Feyre said quickly. “He is welcome in ours.”</p><p>The servant bowed again, and left.</p><p>Lucien wasn’t in the main room of the suite. One of the adjoining doors was closed. Cassian watched Rhys eye it neutrally.</p><p><em> Will you check on him? </em> Rhys near pleaded into Cassian and Azriel’s mind. <em> He can't—not with a High Lord right now. </em></p><p>Cassian nodded, understanding. It was rare he was truly on the bad side of a High Lord, but it wasn’t something easily forgotten.</p><p>
  <em> And him and Mor—just— </em>
</p><p><em> We got it, Rhys, </em>Cassian replied, heading for the closed door.</p><p>They didn’t hear any response after knocking. Tentatively, Cassian turned the handle. The door was unlocked.</p><p>The room was dark and smelled of… <em> nothing </em>. No fear or anger or sadness—it smelled… stale.</p><p>“Lucien?” Cassian asked. “Can we come in?” He felt Az at his back, following closely behind.</p><p><em> Nothing. </em> Through the darkness, Cassian saw him in a corner, sitting at a writing desk. Red hair curtained his face, hiding his expression. Cassian heard a slow heartbeat.</p><p>He took a step forward. Another, slowly.</p><p><em> If I were Tamlin, </em> Cassian thought, <em> I’d come at him from above—tower over him. </em></p><p>Cassian kneeled, armored knees thudding on the rug.</p><p>Luicen turned slightly. His eyes were dull and empty.</p><p>“Lucien,” Azriel tried from behind Cassian, “Do you know where you are?”</p><p>The red-headed high fae cocked his head to the side slightly, but didn’t respond.</p><p>“You are in the Dawn Court, in the suite provided to the Night Court for the meeting of the High Lords.”</p><p>“I need to go to Tamlin,” Lucien said after a moment, brows furrowed, but eyes still glazed and unfocused. “He’ll kill them.”</p><p>“Tamlin is staying in another suite,” Azriel responded neutrally. “You are safe from him, and so are the humans.”</p><p>Half of a smile tugged on Lucien’s face, humorless and dull. “Tamlin’s rage could level cities. I am not safe from him.”</p><p>Cassian shuffled closer to Luicen, on his knees. He knew he looked ridiculous, was hoping for it, in fact. Still, Lucien eyed him neutrally. Almost warily. Cassian almost would have preferred wariness over this… emptiness. Every movement he made was slow and predictable. Carefully, he approached, shifting into a sitting position on the floor, leaning against the writing desk. He looked up at Lucien, who only met his gaze for a moment.</p><p>“Have you had water?” Cassian asked. “Anything to eat?”</p><p>Lucien met Cassian’s eyes again, for a moment. He turned to Az—Cassian watched as Lucien examined the shadowsinger standing stoically in the center of the room. This is why Rhys had sent them both. Cassian pushed—had experience with people fucked from war. He knew how to read a room. But Azriel was better with delicate situations. His shadows told him things Cassian could never know. He wouldn’t kneel, but he balanced Cassian’s innate and unattainable desire to fix everything the moment he noticed it was broken. And Lucien was—half alive and a shell in the dark—unequivocally broken.</p><p>“There is a terrace attached to this suite.” Az spoke in the darkness.</p><p>Silence. Nothing.</p><p>Abruptly, Lucien stood. Az turned and left the room. Lucien followed.</p><p>Cassian sent a thought to Rhys as he stood, alone in the room, <em> I have no fucking idea what just happened. </em></p><p>
  <em> I was trying to avoid listening. Az just handed Lucien a sword, and they're headed outside. They’re not killing Tamlin, are they? </em>
</p><p>Rhys didn’t seem necessarily heartbroken at the prospect.</p><p>Cassian left the room quickly, eyes wide. In the main suite, Feyre and Rhys shared a seat. Rhys met Cassian’s eyes, neutral. They shifted their gaze to the door, which Az opened. There was a sheathed sword—one of Rhys’—gripped tight in Lucien’s hand. His knuckles were white.</p><p>Az paused before walking through the door. There was a faint smile on his face, mild and humored.</p><p>“Are you coming, Cass?”</p><p>Cassian chuckled. “I’m not letting you two do whatever you’re about to do without me.”</p><p>The terrace flew into action the moment Cassian closed the door behind him. In an instant Lucien drew the blade from the sheath, lunging for Azriel. Azriel, just as fast, drew his own steel—an Illyrian blade, not Truth-Teller—and deflected the blow. Cassian drew his blade too, lunging into a defensive position besides Azriel, allowing the shadowsinger to lead the pair. When he saw the quiet grin on Azriel’s face, he took a half step back, and another. A game, then. Cassian resheathed his blade, watching Az and Lucien circle each other in the private terrace. There was still nothing on Lucien’s face, but the neutrality had hardened into mute focus.</p><p>Az pivoted, twisting his blade and wrenching up. The move would gut a novice. Lucien was no novice. Azriel was stronger—typical Illyrian strength which surpassed most high fae. Lucien seemed to know this, and didn’t attempt to push the blow down with strength, but stepped back with one foot, redirecting the blow with his own borrowed blade. Cassian watched their footwork passively, focusing more on their expressions and body language. Az wasn’t going easy on him as he doubled down with a downward strike, deflected by Lucien’s window guard as he pivoted, shedding Az’s blade and twisting his own, going in for a thrust in the shadowsinger’s side. Az didn’t have the time to deflect with anything but a wing when—Az slipped into shadow, reemerging behind where Lucien had been before Lucien winnowed himself—halfway across the terrace.<em> Inhale, exhale, inhale </em>—Az slipped into shadow again, Lucien winnowed. They met in the middle, Az on the offence for a few moments, before Lucien found a weakness, quick and ruthlessly exploiting it as he moved to the offence himself.</p><p>Az’s swordplay was familiar, but against Lucien, Cassian was able to evaluate it in a new light. He fought conservatively, with short, strong movements and tricky twists. Him and Lucien were the same in that regard. Lucien was strong—had to be to wield Rhys’ blade, but his movements were trickier, less formal. He twisted and flowed in a way Az lacked. While Az forced his opponents to move around him, Lucien thrived in the constant dance, deflecting and twisting with ease. He attacked in less obvious places—not taking every opportunity Az left open, electing to wait for unique openings in tricky spots. He didn’t fall for any of Az’s feints, and Az quickly adjusted, shifting to a more traditional Illyrian style—backed with more strength and raw power paired with precision and valor. Matched with Lucien’s tricky style, they fell into a dance, neither of them taking any significant lead.</p><p>Cassian leaned against one of the stone pillars, watching them intently. He watched as Lucien’s posture and expression changed—neutrality to concentration to <em> anger </em>.</p><p>
  <em> Better than nothing. </em>
</p><p>He let Rhys in, let him watch from his own perspective, and felt Rhys' relief at Lucien’s anger. He echoed the sentiment—<em> better than nothing. </em></p><p>The sparring went on for nearly an hour. Sweat beaded on both of their brows, blood dripped from the occasional shallow wound, but they did not waver. Cassian watched attentively through every turn and blow. A knock  on the door of the suite pulled Cassian from his concentrated observance. Still, he did not shift his attention, and nor did Azriel or Lucien, neither of whom seemed to notice the intrusion. Minutes later, the door besides Cassian clicked open, and Helion walked through, graceful and keen. His brows were knit, and he nodded to Cassian.</p><p>“High Lord,” Cassian nodded. Helion, who would usually hit Cassian for being so formal, just waved the Illyrian off. Cassian frowned. Turning back to Azriel and Lucien, he noted the pair had stopped their fighting. Lucien, who moments ago had been angry and rage filled and viscous, had frozen, blade held loosely in his hand as he stared at the High Lord of Day.</p><p>Lucien’s expression had shifted into careful neutrality. Not the neutrality of before, hollow and sick—this expression was carefully crafted.</p><p>“High Lord.” Lucien bowed, holding the blade to his chest.</p><p>“May we speak in private?” Helion asked, wearing his own mask of neutrality. In his eyes, Cassian saw barely concealed—sorrow? No—that didn’t make any sense at all.</p><p>Lucien, slowly, nodded. He picked up the blade’s sheath, long discarded on the terrace ground, sheathing the blade and handing it back to Azriel with a greatful nod. Cassian watched as they walked inside, stepping into Lucien’s dark room and closing the door behind them.</p><p>When he looked back to Azriel, his brows were knit.</p><p><em> What just happened? </em> Cassian mouthed. </p><p>Azriel’s responding shrug was unconvincing.</p><hr/><p>“Are you out? For good?” Was Helion’s first question, once they had entered Lucien’s room and Helion had thrown heavy shields around them.</p><p>Lucien sighed. “Turn around.” The High Lord did without protest. Seeing a set of evening clothes on the writing desk, set there in the last hour, he stripped, throwing the now torn and bloodied Spring Court attire into the fireplace and setting it alight with half a thought. Azriel had been wearing armor during their spar. It restricted his movement—Allowing Lucien to take a more mobile role in the dance. As he looked down at shallow slashing wounds in his arms and side, armor would have been nice. However, he felt <em> awake </em> again, and he wasn’t sure the padding of armor would have woken him up like blood did. The wounds were already healing anyway. He changed into the night court clothes—a button down and dress pants—with little ceremony.</p><p>“Yeah,” Lucien sighed, “I’m out. You can turn around now.” Helion did, looking over Lucien with a fierce fire in his eyes.</p><p>“Come to the Day Court.”</p><p>“No,” Lucien said. “I said no last time, and I’m saying it again.”</p><p>“Last time,” Helion practically snarled, “You were being brainwashed by Tamlin. Come home.”</p><p>“No,” Lucien repeated.</p><p>“You would be welcomed with open arms—”</p><p>“Bullshit—”</p><p>“You are my—” Helion raised a dozen more shields “sole heir.”</p><p>“There isn’t a lord or lady in Prythian you haven’t fucked. I’m sure you can find another,” Lucien hissed, pulling his hair back into a braid.</p><p>“Lucien—”</p><p>“My answer is the same as it was a century ago—” Lucien raised his own dozen shields. There wasn’t a being outside of that room who could break the wards around them. “Not until Beron dies. If you cared <em> at all </em> about my mother, you would understand. If you want to groom me into being your next hypersexual Day Court High Lord <em> after </em>Eris takes High Lord of Autumn and I can ensure my mother’s safety, I’m all fucking yours. Until then, we do not know each other. This meeting is suspicious enough.”</p><p>“I’m not trying to <em> groom </em> you, Lucien. But I refuse to see my <em> son </em> and—yes—only known successor—in the same position he was in a century ago.”</p><p>“What are you—I was <em> fine </em> a century ago.”</p><p>“You were with a man who just today, <em> abducted </em> you.”</p><p>“It—It wasn’t <em> like </em> that before recently—” Lucien hissed.</p><p>“Bullshit. He has <em> always </em> treated you like an object.”</p><p>“Mother above, I think you and Feyre would get along.”</p><p>“You’re <em> defending </em>him? After what he just did?”</p><p>“Absolutely not.”</p><p>Helion took a step forward. Lucien stood his ground, staring down the High Lord.</p><p>“I watched him whip you bloody. And do you think I didn’t notice the fucking <em> bite mark </em> on your neck? When did that happen?”</p><p>Lucien scoffed, quickly pulling the braid out of his hair and covering the scar.</p><p>“He’s a dick—I’m first in line to agree. But he’s also the High Lord of Spring. You and Rhys and Feyre can call him a self-serving son of a bitch all you want, but the rest of us in Prythian don’t have that same privilege. He—” Lucien took a breath. “I was under his care. He saved me from my brothers. He sent me to Amarantha and when I came back bloody he held me as was screaming from pain and he got me this eye. He fucked me for two <em> hundred </em> years and I fell in love with him and now it's over."</p><p>"I'm going to kill him," Helion said easily.</p><p>"We <em> need </em> him. Kill him after the war—and preferably after you find a replacement for him. Actually—don't kill him at all—it's too obvious. Wait for Rhys to do it. Or Hybern."</p><p>"What he's done to you—"</p><p>"Will be an obvious motivation for a <em> father </em>to move to kill. Leave it. He won't survive the decade."</p><p>Helion paused. "Are you sure?"</p><p>Lucien scoffed "Without me, after what Feyre did—the Spring Court will fall, if it hasn't already. He will fall with it."</p><p>"Will it recover?" Helion’s expression, no longer of an estranged father—but of an intelligent leader. His brows were furrowed as he considered Lucien.</p><p>"Hell if I know. Doesn't it have to?" Lucien asked.</p><p>"They're likely to lose land in the process."</p><p>"The Spring Court is rich in a proud culture. The leadership will fail, but the people are strong. They'll fight any shifts of power away from spring. Their identity with Spring runs stronger than their lack of leadership."</p><p>"Do you have any replacements in mind?"</p><p>"Of course I do,” Lucien rolled his eyes. “And I’m watching them carefully, even now.”</p><p>Helion nodded.</p><p>“Wonderful. Glad we had this chat. Can we go back to pretending we’re not related now?” Lucien smiled humorlessly, adjusting his shirt.</p><p>Helion leveled Lucien with a wry look. “Are you okay, Lucien?”</p><p>Lucien sighed. “I’m fine. Nothing like hitting an Illyrian with a sword for a few minutes to get the blood pumping again.”</p><p>Helion leveled Lucien with another look. “Rhys said you had been out there for an hour.”</p><p><em> It was definitely not an hour, </em> Lucien thought.</p><p>“Nothing like hitting an Illyrian with a sword for an hour to get the blood pumping again,” he said anyway. “Can we go out there now? It’s—stuffy, in here.”</p><p>Helion nodded, and they both dropped their shields, a sudden weight lifted. Helion and Lucien’s wards were similar in their core, a similar well of magic in their souls presenting in the spirit of the ward. But Helion’s were works of art, carefully and beautifully crafted. Lucien’s were complex but functional. They fell away with little ceremony.</p><p>The suite was silent as they left Lucien’s room. Rhys broke the silence with a grin.</p><p>“Now that that’s all done, are you staying for dinner, Helion, or did you just come to speak with the newest member of my court?”</p><p>“Lucien is an old friend of my court. We were busy plotting the demise of Tamlin.”</p><p>“That’s all?” Mor asked mildly from the couch. “You could have done that out here.”</p><p>“Fine,” Helion pivoted, “I was offering him a job.”</p><p>“Which I declined,” Lucien said, smiling assertively. “I’m going back to… where I was.”</p><p>Rhys nodded, pressing a kiss into Feyre’s temple. She leaned into the contact. “I can winnow you after this meeting.” Lucien nodded. “Helion, you never answered my question. Are you staying for dinner? It's been too long.”</p><p>“One of my Ladies is making curry as we speak. It's been a decade since I’ve had it. I’ll return for drinks, If I’m invited.”</p><p>“We’ll hold you to that,” Feyre smiled, and—</p><p><em> No. Absolutely not </em>.</p><p>Cassian made a gagging sound.</p><p>Lucien watched a smile light in Azriel’s eyes, and watched Mor suppress a smile.</p><p>Helion left with a sly grin.</p><p>The room was silent for a good five seconds before Cassian burst out in laughter. Feyre was as red as a beet. Rhys just smiled, chucking into Feyre’s shoulder.</p><hr/><p>Dinner was just as informal as it had been the first time Lucien had eaten with the inner circle.</p><p>Azriel handed him green beans, which Lucien accepted with half a thought. He sat beside the shadowsinger at dinner, and they moved in sync, aligned after their spar on the terrace. Through swordplay, Lucien had learned about Azriel. Nothing specific, but a piece of Azriel’s soul had been barred in that hour, and Lucien had bared his own in return.</p><p>In that hour, the familiar haze had evaporated by fiery anger, which had been burned away in the man’s steel blows.</p><p>Helion did indeed return after dinner, holding two bottles of dark liquor. The group moved to the expanse of couches. Mor, sitting with her friend Viviane. Kallias, after quietly checking in with Lucien, inquiring about his health, joined his mate. Feyre, Rhys, and Helion spoke softly in a corner, while Cassian and Azriel spoke softly near the alcohol, Cassian mixing drinks. Lucien headed to his room.</p><p>“Lucien—” Cassian said across the room, holding up a drink. “Give this to Rhys?”</p><p>Lucien nodded, walking over to them. Cassian handed him three drinks. “This one’s for Rhys. The other two are for Feyre and Helion.”</p><p>Feyre cast a grateful smile to Lucien when he delivered the drinks. Rhys and Helion barely noticed him, too deep in their wry flirting. Lucien quickly returned to Cassian, who’s mouth twitched in a smile.</p><p>“We’ll have to shield our rooms tonight.”</p><p>“You’re staying here tonight?” Azriel asked mildly.</p><p>“You’re not?” Cassian retorted, turning his attention to the shadowsinger.</p><p>“Aston invited us to fly tonight. He didn’t tell you?”</p><p>Aston was Thesan’s lover—Thesan’s winged lover.</p><p>“No, he didn’t. I’d take flying with Aston over sitting in that room pretending not to know what those three are about to do any day. Lucien,” Cassian turned, “You coming?”</p><p>Maybe it was the drink Cassian had handed Lucien moments ago, already half empty. It hadn’t <em> tasted </em> that alcoholic, but the familiar buzz in his bones was already settling. Lucien grinned, easy and free, as he said,</p><p>“I can’t actually fly, if you’ll remember.”</p><p>Cassian hit him in the arm.</p><p>“Obviously, dumbass. We’ve got you covered.”</p><p>“I’m sure I can manage fine here.” Lucien rejected them softly.</p><p>“Come <em> on,</em> it’ll be fun.”</p><p>“I doubt I was invited,” Lucien tried again, finishing his drink.</p><p>“Thesan invited you himself.” Azriel corrected as he walked to Mor, Viviane, and Kallias with drinks in hand. He returned a moment later, empty handed. “I suspect Mor will return to Viviane and Kallias’ suite in the next hour. Feyre, Rhys, and Helion will… leave around the same time.”</p><p>“Nah,” Cassian said, mixing another drink and handing it to Lucien, who took it with a grateful nod. “Helion, Feyre, and Rhys will leave first.”</p><p><em> You know, </em> a familiar voice rang in Lucien’s head. Somehow, he knew it rang in Cassian and Azriel’s minds as well, <em> We can all hear you three gossiping in the corner. </em></p><p>Cassian’s voice rang out in Lucien’s mind next, a response to Rhys’ claim, <em> You three smell like a brothel, we’re entitled to some gossip. Mor and her winter friends too. Az, Luce, and I are just trying to survive over here. </em></p><p>
  <em> If Thesan invited you three to ‘fly’ with him and Aston, I doubt you’ll come back smelling particularly virginal yourselves. </em>
</p><p><em> Is that what I’m being invited to? </em>Lucien asked through the temporary mental connection.</p><p><em> No, </em> Azriel clarified, but said nothing more on the matter.</p><p>An hour later, when indeed, the three were alone in the room, sharing their nth drink, they heard a knock on the door.</p><p>“Come in,” Cassian said, and Lucien watched as the door opened, and two familiar figures entered the suite.</p><p>Lucien rose and bowed, and Thesan waved him off with a chuckle.</p><p><em> I must be the only one in Prythian who still cares about manners, </em>Lucien thought.</p><p>“Can we go?” Aston asked upon entry. “I’m tipsy and bored.”</p><p>“What a coincidence,” Cassian grinned back, setting down his drink. “So are we.”</p><p>The night air was cool, but not bitingly so, and the alcohol in Lucien's veins kept him from shivering.</p><p>“Lucien,” Thesan fell into step beside the male, hands folding behind his back. He looked much the same as he had a century ago, neutral and kind. “You look better than you did the last time we took a walk together.”</p><p>“The last time we took a walk together,” Lucien responded dryly, “I only had one eye.”</p><p>Lucien half remembered the conversation. It was after breakfast, he believed, and Nuan had asked Lucien to meet him that afternoon to try the eye she had developed. He had left a few hours after that walk, with little ceremony and no goodbye to Thesan or Aston, who had hosted him so graciously for those long weeks. He had, at least, sent a letter to the pair upon his return to the Spring Court, apologizing for leaving without delay, citing an incident involving the emerging forces of Amarantha, and promising to deliver his thanks in person as soon as possible. That had been over fifty years ago. Everyone looked a little sadder these days—a little more broken.</p><p>“Yes,” Thesan said, “Of course.”</p><p>“Does Aston still hate me?” Lucien whispered to Thesan conspiratorially. Thesan rolled his eyes.</p><p>“Aston never hated you.” Thesan corrected lightheartedly, “That’s his job—especially with outsiders—he’s hard when I’m soft.”</p><p>“He was pretty damn hard when I was there.”</p><p>“He—” Thesan cut himself off, shooting Lucien an exasperated look. “I’m sure you’ll find this hard to believe, but he was worried about you.”</p><p>Lucien threw his hands up in surrender. “If you say so.”</p><p>“I do,” Thesan said, bumping into Lucien’s side softly. “He’ll be nicer now that you’ve left Tamlin. You <em> have </em>left Tamlin, right?”</p><p>Lucien sighed, smiling faintly. “Yes, I’ve—”</p><p>“We’re here,” Aston called from ahead. Cassian had wrapped an arm around the other man’s shoulders, to the Peregryn’s half-hearted annoyance. Azriel watched them all, amused.</p><p>“How are you flying tonight?” Azriel asked neutrally, gaze fixed on Thesan.</p><p>Thesan grinned back, wide and bright—a shining dawn in the darkness which surrounded them. “In the arms of my dear love, of course,” he said, walking up to Aston’s open arms and wrapping himself in the male, who held him securely in his arms.</p><p>Lucien didn’t miss the true conversation they were having.</p><p>Azriel, asking if Thesan would shift—revealing his ‘High Lord’ form, one which apparently allowed him to fly. And Thesan’s response, a casual and definitive no.</p><p> “And who will Lucien fly with?” Thesan asked. “Unless you’ve really been keeping secrets from me.”</p><p>“He will fly with me,” Azriel said with a pointed look to Cassian, who looked ready to object. “Cassian is still injured.”</p><p>“Like hell—” Cassian said, but Lucien cut him off.</p><p>“Either is fine. Or neither. I can stay down here while you all fly in circles.” </p><p>Aston snorted softly into Thesan’s hair.</p><p>“Pick one before they fight for the honor,” Aston said, and Lucien watched as Cassian threw something at him. Aston barked out a laugh, turning him and Thesan so the thing hit his back instead of his lover or his side. It was… endearing… and Lucien’s heart ached for half a moment.</p><p>“Cassian.” Lucien turned to the long haired Illyrian, “I would never forgive myself if I slowed your healing.” Cassian scoffed at the words, but held his hands up in surrender before shooting into the sky alone. Aston and Thesan soon followed, intertwined in each other’s arms.</p><p>Azriel held a hand out before him, the pinnacle of polite chivalry.</p><p>Lucien took it, and they shot into the sky together.</p><p>With the drink in his gut, Lucien immediately thought he was going to hurl into the meadows below, trees becoming smaller and smaller with every half moment. He heard Thesan’s low and joyous laugh, which cut through the harsh night wind. Aston’s wings were bright, near glowing in the darkness. Cassian’s were dark, blending into the scene beyond as he circled and shot around Thesan and Aston.</p><p>Azriel thankfully refrained from doing any sort of tricks surely to lead to spoiled Illyrian leathers, but as they continued to fly, Lucien noticed that they were <em> going </em> somewhere.</p><p>When he looked up to ask Azriel where on Mother's Earth they were going, the soft smile on the shadowsinger’s face kept him quiet.</p><p>“This is not how you expected this day to go,” Azriel murmured softly. He had lifted a shield around the pair, allowing them to talk without yelling over the wind—allowing them to speak without prying ears, as well.</p><p>“No,” Lucien agreed just as softly. “I never said thank you. I appreciate what you did for me today.”</p><p>“No one told you?” Azriel asked mildly.</p><p>“Told me what?”</p><p>“I almost killed Eris today.” He didn’t sound proud in the quiet, cold darkness.</p><p>“It’s a shame you didn't finish the job,” Lucien said after a long moment. He didn’t mean it, not really. Eris was the obvious next High Lord of his court. Even if, years ago, Lucien might have preferred—</p><p>“I needed the… release as much as you.” Azriel interrupted Lucien’s train of thought.</p><p>“Well, then I’m happy we could help each other.”</p><p>They flew in silence again, Azriel’s strong wings keeping them in the sky.</p><p>“Thank you.” Lucien said again in the silence. “For getting it.”</p><p>“We all understand. Sometimes steel wakes you faster than a salve.”</p><p>Lucien hummed his agreement, stomach lurching slightly as they landed. They were on the top of a small mountain, and had flown into a cave, following Aston and Cassian.</p><p>Faelights sparked to light upon entry, revealing a comfortable expanse of pillows and soft rugs beside low couches. A hidden paradise, warm and comfortable, looking out to the stars beyond.</p><p>Lucien watched as Aston pulled Thesan down onto the plush rug, pulling a blanket over them both.</p><p>“I assume you three don’t mind?” Aston asked, draped lazily over Thesan as the High Lord explored his Captain’s neck with his mouth.</p><p>“I have the rest of Helion’s liquor, so I don’t mind at all,” Cassian grinned, pulling a familiar bottle from a side bag and holding it up like a boon stolen from the battlefield. Azriel snatched it out of Cassian’s hand a moment later, passing it to Lucien with a wry grin.</p><p>“Helion visited your suite twice today,” Thesan said sometime later, still below Aston, head lolling to the side, gaze fixed on Cassian.</p><p>“Are you going to ask a question at any point?” Cassian said in the following silence, gaze lazy and eyes electric.</p><p>Thesan scoffed and rolled his eyes, “I am still a High Lord, asshole.”</p><p>Lucien watched the interaction silently, with sharp eyes of his own.</p><p>Aston interjected, unamused. “Are your troops still meeting ours?”</p><p>“South of the Myrmidons, yes. And we’ll all travel to the final encampment near Summer like one big happy family.”</p><p>Aston nodded, turning his attention back to his High Lord, sharp and deadly focus in his gaze.</p><p>Something in Lucien shook awake as they spoke. The political maneuvers, careful and well formed. Each word carefully crafted into a mural of half-promises. The Spring Court had none of the elegance. For years it had just been Lucien and Tamlin struggling to keep a court from collapse. There had been no artistry in that. <em> This, </em> though. Lucien read the men before him like books. He wondered how easily they read him.</p><p>Cassian sat beside him, a hot weight in the expanse of pillows and blankets which surrounded them. He whispered quietly in Lucien’s ear, though they both knew everyone heard.</p><p>“What’s going on in that head of yours?” His voice was rough and his breath was hot and smelled of liquor.</p><p>Lucien turned to face him. His eyes were dark and curious. Lucien tilted his head, whispering back, “I’m remembering my childhood.”</p><p>Cassian’s face changed ever slightly, a flash in his eyes his only indication of hearing the male.</p><p>“Not that part. Before… everything.” Lucien didn’t shift his gaze from Cassian’s. Didn’t dare look at Azriel on Lucien’s other side, who knew so much and said so little. “I was so careful when I was young. If anyone thought I wanted my father’s position…” They all knew what happened to the sons of High Lords who didn’t know their place. “It was like a game—showing my brothers and the courtiers what they wanted to see. Now… Everyone's playing that game again. It’s… nostalgic.”</p><p>Cassian—everyone—was silent for a moment. And then the Illyrian general snorted, but did not stray from Lucien’s gaze.</p><p>“You and I had very different childhoods.”</p><p>Lucien grinned back. “Really,” he asked dryly, taking the bottle from Cassian’s hand and taking a swig.</p><p>“You and Rhys spent our childhoods beating the shit out of me,” Azriel said dryly from Lucien’s other side.</p><p>“We did it with love,” Cassian said in return, turning his gaze to the shadowsinger with a cheeky grin.</p><p>Aston spoke, low and half amused, “From what I’ve heard about Illyrians, I’m more convinced you did it with those dark blades of yours.”</p><p>“I have the scars to prove it,” Azriel quipped back.</p><p>“Dramatic,” Cassian waved him off.</p><p>“Speaking of scars,” Aston said slowly, languid and dangerous gaze leveling on Lucien. “You’ve gained a fair amount—since last we spoke.”</p><p>“I’m a busy man,” Lucien answered easily, maintaining Aston’s heavy eye contact with his own easy stare.</p><p>“It looks to me like they’re all Tamlin’s fault.” Aston said, shrugging smoothly. Thesan looked exasperated at his lover above him.</p><p>“Where is this going, my love?” Thesan asked softly, murmuring into Aston’s skin.</p><p>“No where, dear,” Aston said in return, pressing his lips to Thesan’s shoulder. “I’m simply curious how a man who endured centuries of abuse from Tamlin, including losing an eye defending him and being whipped by him Under the Mountain would suddenly choose to leave, seemingly out of the blue. Now, our spies tell us you spent the hour you were here with your hand on your neck, like you were bleeding out. When we last spoke—Talmlin was the sun with which you orbited. Am I to believe that love is so easily lost?”</p><p>Cassian snarled lowly.</p><p>Azriel hummed. “Lucien is a member of the Night Court,” he said slowly, watching the interaction with careful eyes.</p><p>“Last we spoke,” Lucien said slowly. His voice matched Aston in tone—uncaring. Curious. Bored. “He wasn’t sending my sentries to their deaths every other week, trying to break some curse. Last we spoke,” He shifted his gaze to Thesan, “He hadn’t shoved a human girl against a wall and told her how much he wanted to sink his teeth in her. Last we spoke—” Lucien paused, shifting his gaze to Cassian and Azriel. <em> I really shouldn’t say this. This would be stupid to say. </em> And, a moment later, <em> I’m drunk—I can pretend I don’t remember saying it in the morning. And this might—might guarantee Tamlin’s demise. </em>“Last we spoke, he hadn’t warded me in his manner and fucked me on every surface while I bled out from the same sharp teeth he had threatened to sink into Feyre’s neck.” Lucien leaned back with a thump, sinking into Cassian’s side with a shrug. “Things change.”</p><p>Tentatively, Lucien felt Cassian’s hand shift up, brushing away hair cascading down the man’s shoulder. Lucien felt the slight breeze on his neck—on the scar which ached sometimes, when he woke up.</p><p>“The first chance I get…” Cassian said lowly in Lucien’s hair. “I’m going to kill him.”  </p><p> “It’s hard to kill a High Lord. And foolish.” Thesan said. But the anger flashing in his eyes was the same as that in Azriel and Aston’s eyes.</p><p>“Hard,” Azriel said. “But not impossible.”</p><p>“He spent all of today stewing in his own self pity,” Aston said. “If he does not die by a Night Court hand, I will kill him myself. Though I doubt it would be much of a challenge—High Lord or no.”</p><p>“While I appreciate the chivalry,” Lucien said, head lolled in Cassian’s shoulder. He was half asleep, lulled into a complacent dozing with Cassian’s calloused hand thumbing the scar on his neck and Azriel’s own scarred hand, sitting protectively on Lucien’s lower thigh. “I personally would prefer for us to speak of anything else.”</p><p>Azriel pulled a blanket to them, covering Lucien’s legs and hips.</p><p>“Sleep. You’ve had a long day.”</p><p>Lucien didn’t argue—<em> couldn’t </em>—his tongue heavy in his mouth as the four males around him continued to speak in low voices. Sleep came swiftly and without argument.</p><hr/><p>Lucien woke slowly over many minutes. Vaguely, he registered the first rays of sunlight. Heavy and hot weights surrounded him. Cassian and Azriel, half awake, wings draped around each other, and Lucien in their center. Lucien refused to allow himself to think about it—any Illyrian would cover a non-Illyrian with their wings—it was likely a cultural normalcy as a response to the cold climate of the Illyrian mountains. </p><p>As he looked across the room—Thesan and Aston had clearly left—pillows and blankets folded and returned to their former spots.</p><p>“What time is it?” Cassian grumbled into Lucien’s shoulder.</p><p>Lucien glanced at the sky—the beautiful dawn of Thesan’s court spreading her fingers—“Almost six.”</p><p>Azriel hummed, rolling off of Lucien.</p><p>“I have a headache.” Cassian said, and Lucien hummed softly in agreement.</p><p>“I need to go.” Lucien said roughly, “Will Rhys winnow me? I have a lead.”</p><p>“You have a lead?” Azriel asked, covering his eyes with his forearm.</p><p>“If Tamlin didn’t kill them—yes.”</p><p>Cassian groaned.</p><p>“I’ll fly you back,” Azriel said.</p><p>The trio spent a few minutes folding blankets and setting the room back to how they had found it, before taking to the skies again. The flight felt much shorter on the way back—even with the hangover nausea roiling his gut. Helion was pouring himself a drink inside the suite when they landed on the terrace.</p><p>“Long night?” Cassian quipped, taking Helion’s drink from his hand with a fluid movement and knocking it back. He handed Helion back the glass with a cheeky grin.</p><p>Helion smelled… Lucien didn’t want to think about it.</p><p>“Where’s Rhys?” Lucien asked, following his father’s vague gesture towards the hallway. He waited there, leaning against the hallway’s wall.</p><p>Rhys left the room a few moments later, smelling so much worse than Helion. Lucien resisted flaring his nostrils in disgust.</p><p>“You look… better,” Rhys said carefully.</p><p>“So do you,” Lucien grinned. “Long night?”</p><p>Rhys’ expression shifted into an easy grin. “Will you be joining us with the rest of the High Lords this morning?”</p><p>“Absolutely not,” Lucien quipped back easily, “I was hoping you could winnow me—same spot as last time. I was telling Azriel—I have a lead.”</p><p>“Whatever you need,” Rhys shrugged, squeezing Feyre’s shoulder as she walked past the pair, a sharp look in her eyes, directed at nothing in particular. Maybe it was directed at the liquor, Lucien amended, as he heard the decanter clink open once again behind him. “It may be easier to return home first. It looks like you don’t have any armor or weapons. What did Tamlin do with the Illyrian blade?”</p><p>Lucien chuckled. “Threw it in a river.”</p><p>“The leathers?”</p><p>“Tore them apart.” The claws had been a tad dramatic. At least Lucien had had the good sense to take the armor off, recognizing that violent look in Tamlin’s eyes. If he hadn’t taken them off to be destroyed, he would have been destroyed along with them.</p><p>“The bow?” Rhys asked, eyebrows raised.</p><p>“Snapped in half.”</p><p>Rhys sighed. “I won’t even ask about the daggers. Or your pack.”</p><p>Tamlin had bent the daggers, throwing them in the river beside the Illyrian blade. The pack, too, was thrown in the current.</p><p>“Do you have anything?” Rhys asked.</p><p>“Just your sigil and a letter from Amren.”</p><p>“A letter from—I’m not going to ask. Talk to Cassian, he doesn’t go anywhere without a mini-arsonal. Even to <em> diplomatic meetings </em>.” </p><p>“I heard that!” Cassian shouted from across the suite.</p><p>“Good. Did you hear anything else?” Rhys asked, amused.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. I brought my ‘oh-shit’ bag. It should suffice for weapons and supplies. Don’t have any extra armor though. You might be able to <em> buy </em> some on the continent.”</p><p>Helion spoke up then, “I am so hungover, and you are all <em> so </em> loud. I have a set of armor Lucien can use.”</p><p>“You <em> do </em>?” Cassian asked, incredulous.</p><p>Helion just shrugged, all languid grace and nauseating sex-smells, “I needed a change of clothes, in case full scale battle broke out between us all.”</p><p>Lucien nodded his head low in appreciation. “I would be honored to wear your personal armor, though it is an honor I hope you do not feel obligated to extend.”</p><p>Helion waved him off. “Fuck off—it’s yours.”</p><p>Minutes later, as Lucien sorted through Cassian’s ‘oh shit bag,’ finding rations, a map, assorted supplies for various climates, and two Illyrian daggers, they heard a knock on the door. </p><p>“Helion forgot his socks,” Rhys said, but it was not Helion on the other side of the door.</p><p>A gaggle of fae from various courts stood on the other side, awkwardly looking at each other. The first stood forward, a servant of Thesan and Aston’s. She bore a waterskin Lucien watched thrum lightly with magic, and a potion in a small, delicate glass bottle.</p><p>“For your journey. May it prove useful in the coming days. The High Lord and his captain send their regards.”</p><p>Next, a Winter Court fae stepped forward—a strong male with a sharp eye. He bore a bow made of a pale wood, and a pale leather quiver filled with arrows of spotted white fletching. “May your coming hunt—whatever the purpose—prove fruitful in the coming war. The High Lord and the Lady send their regards and well wishes.”</p><p>Lastly, a representative of the Summer Court stepped forward. A long, sheathed sword was held in their hands, and they held it out to Lucien, who accepted it gently. It was light—surprisingly so—after so much use with Rhys’ heavy Illyrian blade the day before. “A blade of the Summer Sea. The High Lord wishes you well in your journey, and expressed his desire that you may never need to use this, or any other weapon.”</p><p>Lucien nodded his muted thanks, pulling the blade out slightly as the servant returned to his court. The blade was semi-<em> transparent </em>, and Lucien realized quickly that it was made of sea-glass, reinforced magically and sharpened to a deadly edge.</p><p>“Well that was… convenient.” Feyre said softly behind Lucien.</p><p>“More than that.” Mor said from beside her. “Gifts from a High Lord are a big deal, especially to someone outside of their court. With the gifts, Helion, Thesan, Kallias, and Tarquin all just offered safe passage within their courts, along with a slew of other privileges.”</p><p>“How does a bow and arrows translate to safe passage?”</p><p>“It's a ritual—an old one. They’re acknowledging Lucien outside of any court he may be a part of by commending and rewarding the individual. It's a high honor, and arguably an insult to you and Rhys.”</p><p>“An insult?”</p><p>“Stop spewing shit in the High Lady’s head, Mor,” Cassian quipped from beside Lucien, “If Lucien’s High Lord was still <em> Beron </em>, it would be an insult. But it's not. Rhys and Feyre have nothing to do with this.”</p><p>Lucien said nothing.</p><p>"We are honored to consider the distinguished Lucien within our court.”</p><p>Rhys said the millenia old line with grace.</p><p>Lucien shook himself out of any residual shock. He had been playing this courtly game for centuries. He knew what this really meant. Tamlin lived on borrowed time. He had only survived so long because of Lucien. And now, without him, five of the seven High Lords had pledged Tamlin's demise. Whether it was a result of his treatment towards Lucien, Feyre, his people, or other High Lords, was irrelevant. The High Lord was going to die. Soon. A promise made in a set of armor, a magic waterskin and potion, a blonde bow, and a sea glass blade. A promise made in off handed remarks and knowing looks.</p><p>He bore the blood and wore the armor of his father—Helion of the Day Court.</p><p>He bore the blood of his mother—Sidonia of the Autumn Court.</p><p>He wore a vial of his old friend’s blood around his neck and a waterskin at his side, the water from which refilled from the sacred lake of Iztal—gifts from Thesan of the Dawn Court.</p><p>Attached to his pack was a pale bow, thousands of years old and held only by warriors—a gift, and acknowledgement, by Kallias of the Winter Court.</p><p>On his right hip, he wore a sea glass blade—a gift from Tarquin of the Summer Court.</p><p>On his left hip, he wore an Illyrian dagger, and in his breast pocket, a dark stone thrummed with magic—gifts from the Night Court.</p><p>On his neck and back, he bore scars. In his left eye socket, he owned a golden eye—gifts, and reminders, from Tamlin of the Spring Court.</p><p>Promises of change and generous gifts fueled Lucien in the proceeding two months. Two months of sleuthing through the human lands—of finding and befriending both Feyre’s father and Jurian. Two months of using his keen tongue and sharp mind to bargain Vassa away from her cruel master with the help of Feyre’s father. And then <em> battle </em> and <em> bloodshed </em> and—there they were.</p><p>
  <em> Home. </em>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Omg I hope you enjoyed this. It was all inspired by someone who commented on the most recent story in this series, who was curious how the inner circle would react to Lucien's treatment by Tamlin during the meeting of the high lords. I definitely took the idea and ran.</p><p>What did you guys think? I love comments, they mean the world to me.</p><p>If you want to see more Cas/Az/Lucien, make sure to follow this series! I'll be continuing this AU, and this one-shot acted as an interlude to the eventual post-war Az/Lucien/Cas fic.</p><p>Also, fun fact, Thesan autocorrects to 'the sun'. I see you SJM.</p><p>Okay, thank you so much for reading, and if you commented, thank you so much for commenting! I'll make sure to get back to you. Now, its 1 am. I'm going to sleep.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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